


Love Is Letting Go

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cancer, Heavy Angst, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Minor Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Iwaizumi, Romance, Tragedy, this is so long i'm sorry, this was supposed to be for the hqmagicfest like months ago i forgot oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 12:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8845369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Iwaizumi Hajime is nearly seven years old, standing on his driveway in the bright sunshine, when he first meets him. Oikawa Tooru."OrSometimes knowing something will hurt doesn't make it hurt less.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So. This was supposed to be for the hqmagicfest, yes the one that was months ago, but I am an idiot and forgot.  
> But, it's here now!  
> Anyways I'm kind of scared to post this because I wrote it a longg time ago, edited tonight, and then decided well about time to post this... but I spent a lot of time on it so I hope you all like it <3 <3  
> Uh, also, all the information about illness, hospitals, etc, is from various websites, and this is probably obvious, but I'm definitely not an expert, so my apologies for any errors in that realm.

           Iwaizumi Hajime is nearly seven years old, standing on his driveway in the bright sunshine, when he first meets him.

            Oikawa Tooru.

            He’s pale and thin, his blue alien shirt hanging off his skinny frame, with a face that screams _love me love me love me,_ and every bit of Hajime’s mind screams _run run run._ There is something wrong here, and he knows it. It’s the same sort of wrong he started feeling before his dad got sick, the sort of wrong that makes your skin crawl and your stomach turn.

            Then Oikawa smiles at him- _love me love me love me-_ and Hajime can’t help but stay.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Hajime had first realized he was different approximately 8 months before he met Oikawa Tooru. It started when his father came home with a black cloud looped around him, not just his body but his very being, what Hajime would probably call his soul.

            That night, helping his mother wash the dishes, the thick soap making his hands itch, he had asked her about it, about the black cloud and the strange chills, the dread that seeped into his veins when his father entered a room. “What’s wrong with Dad?” he’d whispered, a plate slipping out of his hands and shattering in the sink.

            “Hajime!” his mother had shrieked, shoving him out of the kitchen. “What are you talking about?”

            He never mentioned it to her it again.

            His father died seven months later, approximately 1 month before he met Oikawa Tooru.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

If people are books, Hajime is the person who reads the last page first.          

            Standing in front of Oikawa, watching him smile and wave, Hajime sees this last page, its writing startlingly clear. Based on his experiences, with his father and a group of assorted family friends and familiar faces in the newspaper, this means, for lack of a better phrase, that the person will go out with a bang, leaving behind shattered hearts and ragged edges and broken people. These are the type of people Hajime knows he should stay away from. These are the type of people that break hearts.

            Oikawa Tooru is doomed.

            And as Hajime greets the other boy, letting Oikawa grab his wrist and pull him across the street, he knows he is, too.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Oikawa can be reckless, Hajime learns over the days that the two of them spend together, slowly becoming inseparable.

            He’s destructive.

            He’ll push himself past his limits, and for what?

            “To improve,” some would say.

            “So determined,” they’d coo, squeezing Oikawa’s mother’s arm and telling her how lucky she is to have such a brilliant son.

            Hajime knows better.

            Part of Oikawa _wants_ to watch himself bleed. He wants to hurt. He wants to tear himself apart, piece by piece.

            Sometimes Hajime thinks this is how Oikawa’s last page will end. With him destroying himself.

            The thought is painful enough that it takes days for the ache to go away.

            It hurts to think that someone like Oikawa, who can pull you in with one smile- _love me love me love me_ \- could be capable of such self-destruction.

            Then again, self-destruction can be stopped, can’t it? Maybe that sort of ending is preventable. Maybe he could help him.

            _If he knew…_

           

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

            “Sometimes I know when people are going to die,” Hajime tells Oikawa once they’ve known each other for nearly four years and keeping a secret from his best friend gets too hard. “It’s like… they have a rain cloud following them around.”

            Oikawa opens his eyes, scooting closer to Hajime until their foreheads are touching. “Are you an alien, Iwa-chan?”

            There’s a futon set up on the other side of the room, but as always, Oikawa is refusing to sleep in it, curled up next to Hajime instead.

            “No,” Hajime responds, pinching Oikawa’s arm.

            Oikawa looks slightly disappointed. “Maybe you’re just a psychic then.”

            “Maybe.”

            “Do you know when I’m going to die? I’ll be really old, right? We have to live long enough to go to college together and get a house and a dog and a volleyball court in our backyard,” Oikawa says, his voice urgent and quick as he grabs Hajime’s hand.

            “Yeah,” Hajime whispers, squeezing Oikawa’s hand, “really old.”

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

            “Are you nervous for high school?” Hajime asks Oikawa as he takes off his volleyball jersey. It’s just the two of them left changing in the locker room after their last game of middle school.

            “No because Iwa-chan will be with me!” Oikawa sing-songs, throwing Hajime’s shirt at his face.

            “Shut up.” Hajime pulls his shirt over his head and grabs his bag. “Are you coming?”

            “Are _you_ nervous?” Oikawa shifts his bag to the other shoulder, reaching for Hajime’s hand.

            “No,” Hajime replies sharply, roughly taking Oikawa’s hand.

            “Ow, you’re breaking my fingers!” Oikawa whines, and Hajime loosens his grip. “If you’re not nervous, why’d you ask?”

            “I thought _you_ were nervous,” Hajime grumbles, tugging on Oikawa’s hand until he walks faster through the gym.

            “It’ll be fine! We _have_ to go to high school, so we can go to college!” Oikawa smiles brightly, his steps become lighter until he’s skipping through the hall with Hajime in tow.

            “I _said_ I’m not nervous, Crappykawa, so shut up.” Hajime pauses. “What’s so great about college anyway? How do you even know we’ll go to the same college?”

            “I just know!” Oikawa says happily.

            Hajime wonders if Oikawa remembers the conversation that always seems to be in the back of his mind.

            _“We have to live long enough to go to college together and get a house and a dog and a volleyball court in our backyard.”_

He squeezes Oikawa’s hand tighter.

            “It’ll be fine, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says lightly. “We’ll be together.” He pauses for a moment, smiling, before adding a drawn out, “Forever!” and watching Hajime roll his eyes.

            “Yeah.”

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

They’re standing in Hajime’s front yard. It’s bright and sunny, a soft breeze drifting down the street, and Oikawa has dragged Hajime out of his textbooks to play volleyball with him, which is only sort of happening.

            Oikawa is serving volleyball after volleyball into Hajime’s garage door as Hajime watches from the lawn. He hits a particularly good serve and immediately turns to Hajime, waiting for his reaction.

            Hajime stares back at him for a moment. Oikawa’s hair is shining in the bright sunlight, his smile bragging and confident and somehow slightly vulnerable.

            _Praise me, tell me how great I am, show me how proud you are._

_Please._

            “What are you staring at me for, Trashykawa?”

            “Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines, collapsing onto the grass beside Hajime. He stares at him with his big brown eyes until Hajime feels himself blushing.

            “Your serve was good,” he mumbles, looking away.

            “I knew it,” Oikawa chirps.

            They lie in near complete silence. Hajime can hear Oikawa’s breathing, ragged and fast from the exercise, each inhale and exhale somehow delicate. He glances back at him, his milky white skin and slightly fluttering eyelashes and pink lips, and tries to imagine a world without him.

            “Oikawa,” he breathes.

            _Tell him tell him tell him._

Oikawa’s eyes snap open, and Hajime takes a deep breath, his heart pounding. How is he supposed to do this?

            Oikawa turns onto his side, his hair brushing against Hajime’s cheek. The grass sways back and forth in time with his breathing.

            “Oikawa,” Hajime says again, “I- “

            He’s cut off by soft lips against his own and the taste of Oikawa’s weird churro chapstick and the smell of strawberries and wildflowers and everything else the protagonists of cheesy romantic novels smell like.

            Oikawa’s eyes are squeezed shut, his eyelashes nearly brushing Hajime’s skin.

            A rush of cool wind rustles across the lawn, and Oikawa pulls away just as quickly as he leaned in, leaving Hajime feeling strangely lonely.

            _Kiss me again._

“What was that?” he says, flinching at how harsh his words sound.

            Oikawa laughs, a short, bitter, sad sound. “Forget it.” He turns away. “Please.” A plastic smile is spread across his face before Hajime can say a word.

            They don’t mention it again.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

            Hajime realizes it’s more than black clouds approximately nine years after he meets Oikawa Tooru.

            It’s dreams and flashes of images and strange feelings that he knows _mean_ something and too many correct guesses in a row to be lucky. It’s predicting storms and knowing before a match even starts that they’ll lose.

            It’s seeing with more than his eyes that his best friend is going to die.

            Hajime sits on his bed and sets his laptop on his lap. He pulls up his internet browser and types the word “psychic” into the search bar.

            “ **Psychic** **:** relating to phenomena that are apparently inexplicable by natural laws, especially involving telepathy or clairvoyance.”

He slams the laptop shut.

It doesn’t make sense. _He_ doesn’t make sense.

            It scares Hajime, whether it makes sense or not, this power he has. He huddles under his sheets, thinking of all the people he knows will be dead by morning, all the things he knows that he shouldn’t, and the weight of it all threatens to crush him.

            It would be more bearable, he thinks, if he could tell someone. If he could tell _Oikawa_.

            Oikawa makes everything seem a little more bearable.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Hajime really is going to tell Oikawa about… everything. He _has_ to. It’s only fair. It’s the right thing to do.

            Then Oikawa hurts his knee, and everything falls apart, and Hajime can’t bear to break things any more.

            It happens during a practice match.

            Hajime can tell Oikawa is in pain from the start. The late nights spent practicing until he collapsed, and Hajime had to drag him to the car are coming back to bit him.

            Something feels off about the whole thing.

            Hajime pulls him aside during a time out, grabbing a fistful of his sweat soaked shirt and leading him away from the rest of the team. “Tell me what’s going on,” he demands.

            There are dark circles painted under Oikawa’s eyes by sleepless nights and long days, and his lips are unusually chapped. His normally soft hair looks drier than normal, duller. He shoots Hajime a light, airy smile. “We’re crushing them, obviously.”

            “Don’t hide things from me, Crappykawa.”

            “Iwa-chan is _so_ mean to me!”

            Hajime glares at him. “Oikawa…”

            “Aw, don’t be worried! It’s- “

            Their conversation is ended abruptly as the coach calls for them.

            Oikawa reaches over and squeezes Hajime’s hand, clinging to him for slightly longer than necessary.

            His hand is trembling.

            As the game begins again, Hajime has to continually remind himself to focus on the match, not Oikawa.

            The other boy has a familiar look of intense determination on his face. His teeth are digging into his bottom lip, his eyes flitting around the court. Every once in a while he flashes Hajime a confident smile.

            When it’s time for Oikawa’s serve, Hajime swears his heart is beating ten times faster.

            _Be careful, idiot._

Oikawa smiles again, and Hajime can’t tell if it’s real or not, and he _hates_ that. He spins the volleyball in his hand and steps back.

            For a split second Hajime imagines he can hear him breathing.

            Oikawa tosses the ball into the air- _inhale_ \- and jumps forward- _exhale_ \- smacking the ball across the gym.

            Then he lands- hard- his right knee buckling beneath him. He gasps for breath, a weak pained noise slipping through his lips.

            _Inhale-exhale-inhale-exhale._

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Hajime is by his side in a moment, wrapping his arm around his waist and helping him to the bench.

            It takes only a moment before the whole team is gathered around, shouting out concerned words and straining to get a good look at Oikawa.

            Oikawa whimpers slightly in pain, slowly curling in on himself, and Hajime doesn’t hear it so much as feel it move from Oikawa’s body to his own.

            The noises in the gym are overwhelming. Shoes squeaking against wood, nervous chattering, the coach speaking rapidly into his phone (Is he calling an ambulance? Is it that bad? How did Hajime let it get that bad?) but all Hajime can focus on his best friend, trembling and sweating beside him.

            Oikawa grabs the bottom of Hajime’s shirt, his forearm resting on Hajime’s thigh, and forces a smile on his face. He waves his other hand in his teammates’ direction. “I’m fine, I’m fine!” he says. “I only stepped wrong!”

            Then he lets his head drop to Hajime’s shoulder, his entire body slumping against him. “It hurts,” he whispers, and a heavy feeling settles in Hajime’s chest.

            He squeezes Oikawa’s hand.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

           They make him sit in the waiting room for who knows how long.

           “Immediate family only.”

           Hajime is about ready to throw his phone across the room. Or a chair. It’s draining just sitting there.

           A girl sits in the corner crying into her hands as an older couple argues loudly across the room. Two young women are cursing at each other in hushed voices.

            Even more stressful than the people is the energy of the place.

            Black clouds are swirling through the halls, looming outside patient’s rooms, lurking above staff member’s heads.

            Hajime hates hospitals.

            He drums his fingers against the arm of his chair, biting his lip until he tastes blood.

            A door opens down the hall, and his head snaps up. Oikawa’s mother is walking toward the waiting room, listening intently to the doctor walking beside her.

            He stands up as she looks at him.  

            “Hajime.” She sighs. “You really should get home. I’m sure your mother is missing you.”

            “She’s out of town,” he lies, shuffling his foot across the floor. “Can I see him?” His shoe squeaks loudly.

            She presses her lips together, and Hajime fidgets anxiously. “Just a few minutes, alright?”

            He nods quickly. “Thank you.”

            She takes him to Oikawa’s room, stopping outside the door. “You’re a good friend, Hajime,” she says with a tired smile, and Hajime sort of wants to laugh. Or maybe cry. Instead he thanks her and slips into the room.

            “You idiot,” he hisses, all his anger and frustration rushing back to him. Then he takes in Oikawa’s tear-stained face and puffy eyes and runny nose, and he _melts._

            It drives him crazy that Oikawa can do that.

            “Iwa-chan!” Oikawa hurriedly rubs his eyes, sniffling. He manages to muster up a weak smile before he falls apart.

            Hajime sits on the bed beside him, wrapping his arms around Oikawa’s trembling shoulders.

            Oikawa clings to him, grabbing his shirt so tightly that his knuckles turn white. He’s crying so hard he has to gasp for breath, each inhale accompanied by a pained whimper.

            Hajime holds him as he cries, rubbing his back, running his hands through his hair.

            _Why would you do this to yourself?_

Some part of him must have known this would happen. Some warning lights must have flashes, some red flags gone up.

            Hajime glares at the ever present black cloud. He wants to tear it to pieces, rip it to shreds and bury it in the ground, or throw it in the sea, force it out of existence.

            _Stay away._

Oikawa stops crying after a few minutes, slumping over and burying his face in Hajime’s shirt. “I just want to die,” he whispers, breathing the words quietly enough that Hajime is sure he wasn’t meant to hear them.

            “Don’t say that,” Hajime says sharply. “Don’t ever say that, please, Oikawa.” He places one hand against Oikawa’s tear-stained cheek and gently lifts his head up. “Please.”

            Then he kisses him.

            Their second kiss is so wildly different from their first that it almost feels like kissing a different person.

            But not quite.

            “I didn’t mean it,” Oikawa whispers, his voice hoarse.

            Hajime kisses him again. He brushes his hair out of his face and pulls him closer.

            Oikawa closes his eyes and slumps against the pillow in less than five minutes.

            Hajime stares at him, and the past few minutes suddenly hit him.

            Oh.

            _Oh._

He moves slightly, reaching for his phone to check the time, and Oikawa squirms, grabbing his arm.

            “Don’t leave,” he mumbles sleepily.

            “How could I? You’re using me as a pillow. And what would you do without me?”

            _What would I do without you?_

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

 

            They’re sitting on Oikawa’s couch, Oikawa with his legs draped across Hajime’s lap, some alien movie they’ve watched a thousand times playing in the background.

            “Oikawa, this movie doesn’t even make _sense,_ ” Hajime grumbles. He pokes the bottom of Oikawa’s foot.

            “Stop, my feet-” he squirms- “are ticklish! And it does, too, make sense, so stop whining.”

            Hajime smirks and tickles Oikawa’s foot again, laughing as he shrieks. “Wait, wait.” He pauses, his hand resting on Oikawa’s ankle. “How did _that_ happen?” he asks, gesturing to the TV.

            Oikawa leans forward, cheeks flushed and breathless from laughter. “ _Aliens_ , Iwa-chan," he says, putting his hands on Hajime’s shoulders and staring into his eyes for emphasis. “Don’t make that face!” He flicks Hajime’s arm. “If you’re going to be my boyfriend, you can’t act like aliens aren’t real; it’s against the rules,” he says sternly.

            Hajime’s heart flutters at the word _boyfriend_.

            Oikawa scrunches up his nose, smiling as Hajime kisses his cheek. “We're supposed to be watching the movie.”

            Hajime leans forward again, pressing their lips together.

            Soft lips against tan skin.

            Rough hands in smooth hair.

            “Do you love me?” Oikawa whispers, suddenly serious.

            “I’m kissing you, aren’t I?”

            Oikawa gives him a look. _You didn’t answer the question._

            “Of course, I love you,” he says, pressing his lips against Oikawa’s neck. “

            There’s a pause, during which Hajime manages to accidentally sit on the remote, successfully turning off the TV.

            “How come?” Oikawa says softly, and for a second Hajime thinks he’s asking why he turned off the TV before he realizes he’s still stuck on the previous question.

            “Everything.”

            “That doesn’t make sense,” Oikawa complains, but a small smile appears on his face.

            Hajime feels a sort of pride brimming in him.

_I did that._

           He buries his face in Oikawa’s hair, breathing in his fruity shampoo and grinning when he laughs. “Everything.”

           “It _still_ doesn’t make sense, Iwa-chan.”

           “Like the alien movie,” Hajime replies, glancing at the blank TV screen out of the corner of his eye.

           “Did you really think I didn’t notice that you turned off the TV?” Oikawa laughs again. “I just chose not to mention it.”

           “Why?”

           “Because _you love me_. Because _everything._ Because I wanted you to kiss me again.”   

           Hajime kisses him again.

           “I love you, too, Hajime.”      

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

When Oikawa finally gets the all clear to play on the team again, he, Hajime, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa have a celebratory movie night.

            Hanamaki and Matsukawa are hesitant to join them at first, claiming that they don’t want to be third and fourth wheels to the couple.

            “Just think of it more like a double date,” Oikawa teases.

            “There’s no such thing as a fourth wheel,” Hajime tells Makki. “Just third wheel and third wheel’s date.”

            “I think they took our double date suggestion a little too seriously,” Hajime says later when he and Oikawa are sitting on Oikawa’s couch, waiting for the other two boys to return from the kitchen. “It doesn’t take _that_ long to make popcorn.”

            Oikawa snickers. “At least now we have more time to ourselves.”

            Hajime smiles, leaning forward to kiss him.

            “To pick out the movie,” Oikawa says, standing up quickly, his eyes wide and innocent.

            “You suck, Crappykawa.”

            Oikawa pouts at him and kneels down in front of the cabinet beneath the TV. He pulls out a bin filled with movies and rifles through the disks.

            Hajime stares at the side of his face, absorbing the excitement sparkling in his eyes. “You’re going to be careful, right? When you start playing again?”

           “Aren’t I always?  
           Hajime throws a pillow at him. “I mean it.”

           Oikawa suddenly discards the DVDs and scrambles for the remote, flicking through the channels until he finds what he’s looking for. “I forgot that there’s a special on UFOs on tonight,” he says breathlessly.

           Hajime rolls his eyes as Oikawa jumps back onto the couch next to him, spreading out across the remaining two couch cushions.

            “Sounds great,” Hanamaki says sarcastically, stepping into the living room with a bowl of popcorn, Matsukawa right behind him.

            “Welcome back, love birds,” Oikawa says, smirking.

            “Move over,” Makki orders, kicking Oikawa’s legs.

            Oikawa happily complies, hopping across the couch into Hajime’s lap.

            The stupid UFO special finally starts, and Oikawa’s bounces up and down excitedly.

            He remains just as excited for the full two-hour long show.

            The same can’t be said for Makki and Mattsun, who are asleep within the first thirty minutes.

            Hajime looks over at them, curled up together on the other side of the couch, and feels a slight pang of jealousy.

            _Neither of them… neither of them is dying_ , is Hajime’s first thought, but then he looks over at Oikawa, very much alive and overflowing with happiness, and decides dying isn’t the right word.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

            It’s the worst sort of magic to have, Hajime thinks, whatever it is that he can do. It’s the kind that leaves you helpless, knowing things you shouldn’t know and not being able to do anything about it.

            He’s lying awake, staring at the ceiling.

            The dreams don’t come often, but when they do, they torment him all night.

            Hajime rolls onto his side and closes his eyes again.

            Images dance across the backs of his eyelids, and faint sounds trickle into his head.

            Smudgy, pale figures with blurred faces walk down a wide hallway. Then they melt into the floor, and Hajime is the only one left.

            He’s not in his body. He sees himself in the hall, pacing back and forth, his phone pressed to his ear. He’s talking to his mother, and Hajime can hear her voice but not his own.

            “You’re a good friend, Hajime.”

            Then she cries, and Hajime cries, too, but he can’t hear his sharp inhales or feel the hot tears on his cheeks. He just feels a dull ache in his chest as he watches himself and wonders what’s happened.

            “What’s wrong?” he whispers, and he’s suddenly back in his body with nothing around him but white.

            “15 months at most. Most likely around six,” a disembodied voice says, and Hajime screams.

            “Iwa-chan.”

            “I’m sorry,” Hajime says, and he’s not sure if it’s part of the dream or not.

            “’For what?”

            Hajime sits up quickly, slamming into someone’s face.

            “Ow, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa leans backward, rubbing his nose.

            “Why are you in my room?” Hajime asks in a sharp whisper.

            Oikawa frowns, his eyes widening. “We’ve been studying all afternoon. You fell asleep.”

            Hajime sighs, wiping sweat off his face with his trembling hand.

             “You were talking in your sleep,” Oikawa says, stretching out across the bed facing Hajime. “What were you dreaming about?”

            “Nothing. I don’t remember.”

            “Well, whatever it was, it was just a dream,” Oikawa says gently, stroking Hajime’s arm with the back of his hand. “Go back to sleep.”

            Hajime nods slowly, letting Oikawa clasp their hands together as he leans back against the pillow.

            _15 months at most._

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

            They lost.

            No one talks much on the bus ride home.

            Hajime wishes he would have know. Sometimes he knows. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference.

            He’s staring intently at the seat in front of him, still fighting tears.

            Someone is sniffling in the back.

            Oikawa is still enough that Hajime would think he was sleeping if it weren’t for the occasional gentle hand squeezes and the fact that, knowing Oikawa, he probably won’t be sleeping at all for the next twenty-four hours.

            “Movie at my house?” Hajime suggests softly, breaking the silence.

            Oikawa doesn’t meet his eyes. “I have to work on a college application essay.”

            Hajime nods.

            They _lost_.

            And Hajime knows it’s his fault just as well as he knows that Oikawa is sitting beside him thinking the same thing about himself.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

           Hajime is lying face down on his bed, fresh tear streaks stained across his cheeks, when Oikawa’s mom starts texting him.

           “Is Tooru with you?”

           “Where are you, you piece of shit? You’re scaring your mom,” Hajime texts Oikawa before sending his mom a brief promise to find him.

           Hajime slips down the stairs and out the front door unnoticed. His mom is probably already asleep, alone in her big bedroom.

           It’s cold outside as he unlocks the car and slides into the driver’s seat. A group of kids are shouting at the other end of the street, their voices high and excited.

           Hajime sighs and drives in the opposite direction, towards school.

           Oikawa doesn’t even notice as Hajime steps into the gym and leans against the door.

           “How’s the college essay going?”

           Oikawa jumps, the volleyball in his hand falling to the floor and bouncing several times before rolling to a stop. He doesn’t bother with trying to explain himself, simply allowing Hajime to drag him to the car.

           Hajime drives with one hand wrapped around the steering wheel and the other clinging to Oikawa’s wrist, anchoring him in place.

           Oikawa presses his forehead against the window. He doesn’t say a word the whole way to his house, even as Hajime yells at him for being so reckless.

_I thought you were done with this._

           Oikawa’s mother greets them with hugs and a soft, “Welcome home.”

           Hajime follows Oikawa into his bedroom and closes the door behind them. They sit on Oikawa’s bed, silently wrapping their arms around each other.

           “It’s not your fault,” Hajime says softly.

           “It is,” Oikawa says, in the same tone of voice you’d use to say, “The Earth is round.” He shifts slightly and grimaces when he puts weight on his bad knee.

           Hajime winces.

           “I’m fine,” Oikawa says, too quickly and too loudly. He digs his fingernails into his wrist until his skin turns white and rubs his watering eyes.

           “I hate when you cry,” Hajime mumbles.

           “I know, I’m an ugly crier. You’ve told me before.”

           “That’s not _why._ ” Hajime shivers as a gust of wind blows through the open window, and Oikawa pulls him closer.

           Soft lips press against his collarbone, gentle and desperate- _love me love me love me_.

           “Will you still love me even when we’re old?”

           Hajime’s chest aches. “If I say yes, will you stop crying?”

           Oikawa wrinkles his nose. “Fine.”

           “Yes, of course, I will, idiot. How could I stop?”

           Oikawa leans his head against Hajime’s chest. “It’s just… I’m going to miss you next year.”

           “I’m going to miss you, too.”

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

            The world stops spinning properly sometime around midnight on a Monday.

            Hajime wakes with a start, gripping his sheets so tightly that his fingers hurt, unable to determine if he’s had a nightmare or not and more concerned with the sickening darkness spinning across his vision.

            Oikawa is nowhere near him, and the black cloud is still there, possibly permanently etched into his eyes.

            Hajime’s mother is hovering over him, brushing the hair out of his face and gently touching the back of his hand.

            “What’s wrong?” Hajime sits up quickly, scrambling out of bed.

            _“What’s wrong? Where’s Dad?”_

“Hajime.”

            He shoves books off his bedside table, looking for his phone.

            _It’s fine it’s fine it’s fine it would be worse if-_

_He’d know if-_

“Hajime, what are you doing? Sit here.” His mother pats the side of the bed.

            Hajime reluctantly complies, sitting on his bed and tucking his knees up to his chest.

            “Toro’s in the hospital. They think he had a seizure.”

            “Is h okay? Is he going to be okay?” Hajime is on his feet again, digging through his closet.

            _No no no he won’t be._

Hajime can’t find his jacket. It’s the only one that still fits him. Maybe Oikawa stole it. Oikawa likes to take his clothes, even though they’re too small for him, and maybe he has it with him-

            “You can see him in the morning, Hajime. He’s in good hands now, alright? They need to run some tests, but he’s okay.”

            Hajime sits on the edge of his bed.

            He wishes his mother was right.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

            _I hate hospitals,_ Hajime thinks as he sits in the waiting room, tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair until the woman one seat over snaps at him. His mother glares at her.

            “I hate hospitals,” he mutters under his breath as they walk down the hall to Oikawa’s room.

            “Iwa-chan, are you crying?” Oikawa asks when their mothers have left the room. He’s sitting in a narrow bed, his legs atop a pile of crumpled sheets. “Stop, you’re going to make me cry, too.”

            “Don’t,” Hajime says firmly. “You’re an ugly crier.” He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand.

            Oikawa pats the sport on the bed beside him. “Come here.”

            Hajime sits down, wrapping one arm around Oikawa’s shoulders and taking his hand.

            Oikawa rests his forehead against Hajime’s arm.

            The blinds tap against the window, swaying with the slight breeze. Fresh flower-scented air blows into the room, for a moment overpowering the strong hospital smell.

            Oikawa’s breath touches Hajime’s skin. “I thought I was dying,” he whispers, and Hajime has to bite his lip to stop it from trembling.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

           The words “Brain Tumors” are displayed at the top of the webpage in large bold font, with “In Teens” neatly below them, so Hajime can’t pretend to think she’s looking this up for a friend or a colleague.

           Hajime’s mother looks away from her computer screen and sees him standing in the doorway. “Want to sit?” She taps the seat next to her own.

           “No,” Hajime says sharply, running up the stairs before she can stop him. He throws his bag on the floor and lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t move until his phone rings.

           “Can you come see me?” Oikawa whispers, his shallow breathing sending muffled noises through the phone.

            “Are you okay?”

            “I can’t just want to see my boyfriend?” He sniffles.

            Hajime is at the hospital in less than 30 minutes, sitting on the edge of Oikawa’s bed.

            Oikawa’s knees are tucked up to his chest, his hands laced around his legs. “15 months,” Oikawa says softly. Hajime’s jacket is bundled up in his lap.

            “15 months,” Hajime echoes. He feels nauseous.

            “At most,” Oikawa adds, biting his lip. “Maybe you’ll only have to deal with me for another half a year.”

            Hajime smacks his arm. “Don’t say things like that.” He runs his hand down Oikawa’s wrist and traces the lines on his palm.

            “Can you read palms, too?” Oikawa asks with a small smile.

            “Too?”

            “Remember the tarot cards? When we were little-“

            “I remember.” The cards are buried under the shirts in his dresser nearly forgotten.

            “Bring them with you next time,” Oikawa pleads, tugging on his sleeve.

            “Fine,” Hajime lies.

            The nurse comes in a few minutes later to gently inform Hajime that visiting hours are over.

            Hajime gently untangles his hand from Oikawa’s. “You going to be okay tonight?”

            “Of course!” Oikawa smiles at him, rubbing his eyes. He sniffs. “I have your jacket.”

            “Yeah. Keep it.”

            Hajime makes it halfway home before everything really hits him. He has to pull over on the side of the freeway.

            Dozens of cars flash by, headlights sparkling in the dark like little stars.

            _15 months._

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

The 15 month estimate changes to 10 and then to six (“at most,” the doctors add carefully), and Oikawa starts refusing to eat anything more than snacks and maybe one meal a day.

            Hajime thinks he’s doing it on purpose first before he realizes that Oikawa just isn’t hungry.

            “Don’t you have other friends?” Oikawa teases as Hajime walks into his room.

            “Yeah. Maybe I should go hang out with them instead.”

            “Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines. “I’m _teasing_ you.  
            Hajime rolls his eyes. He sits on the edge of the bed. “Did you sleep last night?”

            “Are you my mom?” Oikawa asks, which means no.

            Hajime flicks his forehead. “Take a nap.”

            Oikawa rests his chin on Hajime’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Tell me a story.”

            “What are you, five?” Hajime pries Oikawa’s arms off of him and pushes him gently against the pillow. “ _Lie down._ What’s this story supposed to be about?”

            “I don’t know.” Oikawa yawns. “You pick.”

            “Fine.” Hajime stares out the window, absently running his hand up and down Oikawa’s arm. “Remember when you thought that if we slept outside aliens would abduct us?”

            “Not this-“

            “Shut up, I’m telling a story. So, we camped out in your backyard, but it rained. Then you slipped in a mud puddle and started crying. The end.”

            “You’re so mean!”

            “You asked for a story. Now go to sleep.”

            “You can’t just-“ Oikawa yawns again- “say ‘Go to sleep,’ and expect me to fall asleep.”

            Hajime brushes his hand across Oikawa’s face, feeling his eyelashes flutter against his palm.

            “Just close your eyes.”

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

           Eventually, Oikawa stops wanting to talk to him. When he’s not staring off into space, he’s asleep.

_Is this what going out with a bang looks like?_

           Hajime doesn’t know what to say, but he talks.

           About their friends and volleyball and the stupid movies Oikawa likes.

           Occasionally Oikawa will say a sentence or two. They usually don’t make sense.

           One day all he says is, “I’m so scared, Iwa-chan,” on a repeated loop, and when Hajime gets home he locks himself in his room and cries until he thinks his head will explode.

           On good days they watch movies until Hajime has to leave.

           Some days Oikawa doesn’t want to be touched, and other days he holds both of Hajime’s hands and puts his head on his chest. Sometimes he lets Hajime play with his hair.

           On the worst days Oikawa’s mother calls and tells Hajime to stay home.

           Those days are the ones Hajime hates the most.

 

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

            “Did you know?” Oikawa asks quietly. It’s the first thing he’s said all day. “Did you see a black cloud?”

            “I didn’t think you remembered that.” Hajime pauses. “Yeah.”

            “When?”

            “The first day we met.” Hajime squeezes Oikawa’s hand.           

            “Why would you want to be friends with me?” Oikawa asks. “If… if you knew…”

            “You smiled at me, and… I loved you.”

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

            Hajime wakes up in the middle of the night approximately 11 years after meeting Oikawa Tooru, and everything _hurts_ more than anything has ever hurt before.

            He’s unable to do anything but lie there, gasping for breath, and curl up into a tight ball.

            He wonders if the way he feels now is how Oikawa feels, and the thought makes him feel sick.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Hajime gets to say goodbye. Maybe someday he’ll be grateful, but right now it doesn’t feel so great.

            He wonders how he’s supposed to say goodbye to someone he can’t imagine life without.

            He holds Oikawa’s hand. His fingers are cold.

            Hajime shuts his eyes. “Don’t be scared,” he whispers, and it feels like he’s talking to himself, so he opens them again.

            Oikawa still looks like Oikawa.

            _Love me love me love me._

_I love you I love you I love you._

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Iwaizumi Hajime is nearly 18 years old when he loses him.

            Oikawa Tooru.

            He knows Oikawa is gone before anyone tells him.

            The black cloud is gone.

            Hajime never thought he’d miss it.


End file.
